


apparitions, faded

by Yeoun (Bakagami)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 02:51:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3192503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakagami/pseuds/Yeoun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>luhan arrives like a hurricane and leaves minseok behind, picking up pieces shattered and seeing things not there as aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	apparitions, faded

**Author's Note:**

> i’m just really sad. based off of the quote, “if you blur your eyes, the streetlights become hundreds of ghosts going home.” (this was supposed to just be sad but then porn happened)
> 
> reposted from [livejournal](). unbeta-ed.

They start out stumbling, rookies to the industry, backs bending into ninety degrees more than half the time. The rest of the group is still awkwardly trying to get used to each other, elbows bumping and dance steps frustratingly not in sync. 

Minseok nods his head dumbly when the company tells him he’ll be in M. He doesn’t even know Chinese. When he heads over to the other M members, he feels uncomfortable as Jongdae looks as the other four converse in a language that is lost to him. 

After a while, they are introduced (Yifan, Zitao, Yixing, Luhan) and their names roll off his tongue unfamiliarly. They all speak extremely adequate Korean and both Minseok and Jongdae deflate in relief. “Looking forward to working with you,” Luhan says, all bright grins and everything. “I heard we’re about the same age.” Nodding at Minseok, he laughs and points at the rest, “We’re the hyungs, you hear?”

Yixing pats Luhan on the back placidly and Zitao mutters a disgruntled, “Old men.” Yifan rolls his eyes and acts like he’s too cool for the spectacle (Minseok soon learns it’s the contrary). 

It is like that—Minseok finds himself drawn to Luhan, mumbling broken Chinese for it to be corrected, brushing fingertips at dawn before leaving the apartment. They slowly fall into place, weaving around the other during morning bustling, flowing around each other during every performance.

Minseok likes to watch the dust particles dance around the bridge of Luhan’s nose, the line of his lips. The glances are stolen when they’re in the car, during lunch, under florescent lights when Minseok’s stomach is churning and Luhan’s reassurance is a tonic.

Always, Luhan can just put his hand on Minseok’s back, his hip—and his uneasiness dissipates into the touch, unfamiliar spotlights replaced with familiar warmth.

During interviews, Minseok likes to preen when Luhan calls him his  _baozhi_  affectionately. Luhan eases both him and Jongdae into the Chinese industry with the help of the other members, flashily helping them with their introductions. 

What Luhan doesn’t know is sometimes Minseok can barely grasp some translations when Luhan’s _this_  close to his ear, lips hovering over cartilage. It’s disconcerting because Minseok should be learning Chinese and Luhan’s fingers probing into his wrist shouldn’t cause his gut to clench. 

Minseok slowly indents his place into their shared space, into Luhan and the group. The new dynamics fall into place and Minseok learns the familial significance of his new brothers, feels the apartment become more and more as a home.

  
  


The first time happens after a performance, after the audience cheers them to encore, and their cheers reverberate down Minseok’s spine. All the members leave the stage with cheeks flushed, body temperatures hot with adrenaline. Tired, but happy nonetheless. 

When the stage crew cleans up, Luhan pushes Minseok against the dressing room door, presses his lips against wrist, shoulder, collarbone. His hair is mussed, eyes twinkling. He is enthralling. 

Minseok decidedly closes the space between them, first with lip, then with tongue, then tentatively licking into Luhan’s inviting mouth. He is sure and then unsure, but Luhan has no qualms with taking all of Minseok, even when Zitao bangs against the door and Yifan roughly clears his throat a few feet away. 

Luhan pulls away with reluctance, smile lingering on his lips, pleased at the state he’s left Minseok in. And Minseok can’t even bring himself to be mad at him when he’s taken by the hand and led to the van waiting out back. 

Jongdae grins, assessing their ruffled appearances. Yixing eyes them with amusement while Yifan and Zitao caboose them, grumbling together, heads turned towards each other. 

Unbothered, Luhan cheerfully moves his legs aside for them and tucks his nose into Minseok’s neck when the van starts moving. He’s full of promises and happiness, wrapping his hand around Minseok’s contently.

  
  


They’re mostly too tired to do much. Between long hours of flight and Luhan clenching onto him, knuckles white, and endless performances, they share a few heated kisses and not much else. 

Sometimes, though, Luhan will spread Minseok apart, setting himself between thighs, hands stroking the back of knees. He’ll pull down zippers excruciatingly slow, making Minseok worry his lip, the inside of his cheek. 

When Luhan slips the fabric down Minseok’s legs, Minseok jerks involuntarily at a press against his leg, cool fingers on heated skin. His breaths come out in puffs and Luhan tilts his head down, bangs falling into his eyes, tongue flicking against Minseok’s cock. 

Minseok manages a shaky inhale, but gasps when he feels slick, slick wetness wrap around him, slow and deliberate. Fingers tangling in the sheets underneath him, Minseok throws his head back when Luhan swirls his tongue sloppily, eyes hooded. 

Luhan flicks his eyes up to meet gazes with Minseok, drawing back with spit-slick lips and a line of saliva snapping between cock and tongue. And then he leans back in with a smirk, scraping teeth along the top of Minseok, hard enough to draw a twitch, light enough to draw a moan. 

Desperate, Minseok rocks forward, panting. “Luhan, please.” 

Luhan palms himself through his pants and takes Minseok in his mouth, throat, in one go, earning him a shout. Minseok can feel his cock hitting the back of Luhan’s throat and his body clenches. Tears well up in Luhan’s eyes but he continues, bobbing his head faster, sucking with more vigor. 

Minseok rolls his hips and finds Luhan’s face with a shaky hand, carding his fingers through hair messily. One of Luhan’s hands comes up to rest on his, closing Minseok’s hand to fist his hair. 

 _Oh_. Experimentally, Minseok tugs. The vibrations from Luhan’s moan wrack up Minseok’s bones, sending more blood downward. He’s so hard, aching, and Luhan is his only solace, lips wrapped prettily around his cock. 

Tugging again, Minseok feels Luhan moan once more and can’t hold himself back. “Coming, Luhan, I’m—“ 

Trembling, Minseok shoots into Luhan’s mouth with a shout, Luhan imprinted into the back of his eyelids the whole time. When he refocuses his eyes, he sees Luhan’s adam apple bob, swallowing audibly. Minseok’s throat is dry. 

Luhan rises in a motion of grace, setting himself on Minseok’s lap, rubbing his clothed erection against his thigh. Turning his head, Minseok kisses Luhan fervently, tasting his cum mixed with the underlying taste of  _Luhan_. 

Whining into the kiss, Luhan rocks his body and is pleasantly satisfied when Minseok slips his hands into Luhan’s pants, cupping his cock. His blowjob is paid back in full.

  
  


After the first year, they’re busily flying between countries, catwalking along stages surrounded by screaming, screaming fans. Sometimes Minseok hears them in his dreams, sometimes he hears them when Luhan steals a sloppy kiss right before they walk into view. 

Their time has become limited, evoking rushed moments, leaving less time for intimacies. Minseok can feel Luhan’s bones getting weary, weighed-down, but his skin still vibrates with a buzz, eager to sing, to dance. He is not broken, yet. 

They relieve stress together, much to the other members’ chagrin—Minseok can’t bring himself to care when Luhan sits, impaled by his cock, delicious mouth dropping open to wrap around a moan. 

Luhan fucks himself onto Minseok, eyes rolling back, and Minseok can only hang on, can only have himself try to match Luhan’s pace. Palms on Minseok’s chest, Luhan tilts down to lick his way up hot skin, sucking marks in places Minseok should care about. 

Lips meet and Luhan’s moan is swallowed, mixed with Minseok’s as he thrusts up, burying himself deep, deeper. When they come, it’s always bright, blurry—after, Luhan likes to curl up along Minseok’s side, fitting into all of his crevices like a puzzle. 

Right before Minseok drifts off, he hears something like a “I love you” whispered in the dark, along the spaces between his fingertips. And he feels his heart click down his ribs, plummeting, because he realizes they’re the words he’s been missing this whole time. 

When they wake up, groggy and disoriented, he noses Luhan’s jaw affectionately. “I love you, too.” Delighted, Luhan drags him out of bed and leads him to the bathroom, fingers interlocked, bodies severely lacking clothes (which is a blessing in Luhan’s case, Minseok thinks, watching as pale skin sways in front of him). 

They giggle as they brush their teeth and it’s 6 AM in the morning, on a Thursday, and Minseok confirms he really does love Luhan. The confirmation feels a little belated.

  
  


Except, everything starts to fall apart soon after, Yifan leaving without a goodbye. It’s understandable—the members have seen the stress, the responsibilities, stacked one after another on his shoulders. It doesn’t keep them from being angry initially, shocked at the sudden departure. 

M is left without a leader and the others have to pick up the slack, have to fill in the empty space. A star has burned out from their twelve, burning, burning, and then nothing, darkness. 

Zitao surprisingly cries the least, only leaving his eyes downcast and sighs muted. Only, Minseok realizes he’s stopped dragging the members into his showers. Jongdae’s smiles are still as frequent, although not as vibrant—he spends even more time in the studio, practicing, determined not to waver. Yixing throws himself into dancing, spending just as much time in the practice room as Jongdae in the studio. 

Luhan is more quiet and retreats into himself, only coming out when Minseok coaxes him to. Minseok aches for him, for Yifan, for the group, but there's nothing he can do except kiss tears away from Luhan's face, align promises along Luhan's spine. 

By the time  _Time Boils the Rain_  is released, the group has somehow picked up their pieces, haphazardly putting them together. Minseok can guess everyone has a copy of the song by the way all of them mouth the lyrics when it comes on. 

K comes and fills in the cracks, holding their hands throughout the process. They’re all just boys trying to come to terms with the situation; Minseok doesn’t know how the TVXQ and Super Junior sunbaes handle it. Day pass and they drop by, encouraging and supportive (but with sadness etched into understanding smiles). 

The company pushes them even harder, concerts scheduled back to back. And then, Luhan collapses during a practice, coming to in Minseok’s arms. The others surround them, radiating worry as he shakily reassures them. 

He’s sent to the hospital and prescribed bed rest. When the members crowd around him after a performance, he smiles. What comes out of his mouth next is not unexpected. “The next performance will be my last.” 

“But, hyung,” Sehun tries to protest, but everyone understands, nodding and slipping in encouragements. Luhan twists the bedsheets in his hands and whispers, “Thank you.” 

So when EXO performs in Beijing, they all go out with a drive; Minseok is determined to let the next star die with a flourish. The members are extra clingy with Luhan, stealing hugs and slinging arms around him. 

Minseok decides to act brave and draws Luhan in, pretending to mime a kiss (but it’s real—it’s real and warm and filled with love). When Luhan sings  _Moonlight_ , Minseok wants to wipe his tears, wants to hold him and tell him everything’s going to be okay. 

As they leave the stadium, Minseok remembers a light flashing brightly, shining against Luhan for but a moment. And in that moment, he remembers thinking of a star’s dying flame, another one going out to leave behind ten.

  
  


It’s unspoken between them, when Luhan decides he will release his statement and officially leave. But this night—this night somehow feels like the last. 

So Minseok draws him in, curls up, a comma against lingering promises, mumbled reassurances. The light is dimmed and the room is empty except for them, silence weaving into every pause. 

“Always,” Minseok whispers brokenly, question mark hovering in the space between them. Luhan closes his eyes, resting his forehead on Minseok’s. “Always,” he confirms, “You are my always.” 

They stay like that throughout the night, stealing soft kisses, pocketing little touches. Neither of them get much sleep. 

When morning comes, Luhan untangles himself from Minseok’s grip. He picks himself up. And he leaves, sorry on his lips, pressed against Minseok’s temple, trailed behind every footstep. 

Once the apartment is quiet again, Minseok cries. He cries and cries and goes through the motions of getting ready—putting on clothes, smoothing out the covers. The apartment is flooded with stillness and Minseok can barely breathe. Can barely see, tears, eyelashes, and blurred lines. 

On Weibo, Luhan posts “I have come home.” And Minseok—Minseok shakes, because all he can see is Luhan flitting around the apartment, leaning against the bathroom sink. Sitting on the side of the bed, looking out of the bedroom window.

Minseok is no longer home.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are lovely.


End file.
